


Nocturne in Orange and Silver

by larajeansong



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Developing Friendships, Light Angst, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larajeansong/pseuds/larajeansong
Summary: In which Mimura and Sugaya have the strangest and most wonderful year of their lives, featuring art exhibits, a truly terrible Test of Courage, more art, a class civil war, and the overwhelming sadness of their most beloved teacher's death. Also, art.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Mimura Kouki! There should be more fic of this pairing, because it’s great. This is mostly snippets, haha. Also, whoa, Ange wrote a fic of relatively normal length.
> 
> A few lines in the cave scene are straight from the anime episode (S2E1). They aren't mine.

The barista smiles sunnily at Sugaya as she slides his muffin and espresso across the counter. She has long, dark hair styled in twin braids that remind Mimura of Okuda, but her bright — just this side of brash, really — cheer are the barista’s own. Sugaya returns with his food and releases a small, satisfied sigh as he bites into the muffin.

“So what did you think of the exhibit?” he asks Mimura, wiping a crumb off his chin.

“It was pretty cool, but not really my thing. I didn’t like the artist’s statues. Too creepy.” Mimura smiles at Sugaya from across the table, a little fonder than he expects of himself, considering they haven’t been friends for that long.

It’s one of their newer habits, hanging out after they tour art exhibits. Normally, they would look at the exhibit together, then leave, but nowadays, they’ve decided it’s more fun to go grab a bite to eat or check out the mall afterwards. They’ve already had dinner together a few times, since it saves them the hassle of going home and getting dinner there. Although Mimura thinks that maybe he’ll invite Sugaya over to his house for dinner sometime anyway. He’s sure his parents would like Sugaya, even if the reverse might not apply. Especially with his dad.

His friend laughs. “You found the statues creepy? Didn’t you think of Korosensei when you saw the tentacle monster?”

“Korosensei never wears that kind of facial expression, though.”

“That’s true,” Sugaya says thoughtfully. “I’d really love to make an official sculpture of him or something like that, but Karasuma would probably get mad at me. He _is_ a government secret, after all.”

“Nah, don’t feed his ego,” Mimura says, chuckling. “He’s obsessed enough with himself as it is, imagine him clinging to that statue all day.”

“That would be the highest form of flattery. It could even make assassination attempts easier, who knows. He’ll stay in one place for once.”

Mimura grins. “Let’s maybe keep it down. I think the old lady at the next table might’ve overheard us, and you did just say _assassination attempt_.”

“Just the daydreams of an overimaginative artist,” Sugaya says, polishing off the rest of his muffin. “Are you done? I’m going to take the coffee with me. We should get home soon, since it’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mimura only ordered tea, so he was done before Sugaya even received his order. “Let’s go. You won’t be late, right?”

“Nah, the bus stop’s like a ten-minute walk.”

They leave Mimura’s empty cup of tea and Sugaya’s plate on the table, pushing in their chairs and exiting the coffeeshop. The exhibit started pretty late, so the sun is already sinking below the horizon, a faint orange glow bathing the Kunugigaoka mountains. Mimura wouldn’t have minded getting dinner with Sugaya, but there isn’t anywhere to eat nearby unless he wants to pick up McDonald’s, and they both promised their families they would be home for dinner.

“I’m not looking forward to going to back to school tomorrow,” Sugaya says with a sigh. He frowns at the street ahead of them. “Wait, hold on. I want to take a picture of this. The lighting’s so nice, I might paint it.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a couple quick photos.

“You’ve never shown me any of your paintings,” Mimura muses. “Just your drawings.”

“Yeah, because that’s the only stuff I do at school. Not like I can bring my watercolour set with me, although it would be nice if I could. The supplies we get for art class are pretty bad.” Sugaya snorts. “Not that it matters, I guess. Korosensei’s too worried about first trimester’s finals to think about art class.”

Mimura chews on his lip. “I’d like to see some of your other works, too. I bet they’re really cool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course.” He gives Sugaya a tentative smile — they’re taking this carefully, slowly, and he doesn’t want to go too fast — but Sugaya grins at him, so he’s doing something right. “All the art you’ve done is amazing.”

“Thanks. People always acknowledge my art is really good, but then they tell me to do something actually productive and go back to my studies. It’s kind of disheartening at times.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a waste of time,” Mimura says, a bit more confidently this time around. “I wouldn’t be touring these exhibits with you if it was true.”

“I’m glad you enjoy them. You never pick them, so do you want to choose the next one?”

“I don’t really know any art exhibits, Sugaya. Unless you want to attend a film festival with me or something, because that’s the closest thing I can come up with.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” his friend says. He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “I’d love to see a film festival sometime.”

“Really? That’d be nice.” Mimura considered asking his friends more than once, but he wasn’t sure Isogai or Maehara would enjoy it, and besides, he could hardly spare time to attend one himself on top of his studies. Now that Sugaya says it, though, he wants to cram time for it into his schedule anyway.

They talk for a few more minutes as the skies grow from light blue to a pleasant, rosy pink. Something weighs on the back of Mimura’s mind despite how happy he is to talk to Sugaya about film festivals — a thought that’s bothered him for a few weeks, and as the class as a whole gets closer to each other, pulled together by their common goal of murdering their teacher, it’s hard not to think about. The conversation’s come to a lull when he breaks the silence.

“I want to tell you something,” Mimura says, and suddenly he feels like he’s stumbling over his own tongue. He swallows. “You can’t tell anyone, though.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“I kind of like Kanzaki,” he admits. His cheeks heat up just saying it aloud. He’s never told that to anyone before — he loves his other friends, too, but he absolutely does _not_ need to hear Maehara’s self-proclaimed professional advice on how to get her to fall in love with him. “I know I’ve only known for a trimester, but she’s really pretty and nice. I like her a lot.”

“Hm?” Sugaya seems to consider his words. “Yes, Kanzaki’s quite pretty. Are you going to ask her out or anything?”

“No! Of course not. We barely talk to each other.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Mimura’s worried he’s going to push him more on it, but to his relief, Sugaya just shrugs. “I’d love to paint a portrait of her, see if I could get across all that beauty and elegance with the right brushstrokes and palette. Watercolours would be soft enough for that, maybe. Well, I get it. She’s kind of hard to talk to when you think of what an idol she is. She’s so serene about everything.”

 _She’s not the only one,_ Mimura thinks, a bit drily, but smiles nonetheless. “She is. Thanks for not making fun of me.” _Like Maehara or Okano probably would. Although better not to bring up Kanzaki around Okano at all._

“Of course. No judgment here. She’s pretty amazing.”

They reach the bus stop. Mimura’s house is a half-hour drive from Sugaya’s — reasonably far apart, so they’ll have to split up now. They sit together on the bench, waiting for their buses. It’s nice and quiet; the sun is almost completely gone, with only the smallest whisper of orange painting the mountains. As the sky begins to shift from pink to purple, Mimura’s bus pulls up.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, standing up.

“Can’t wait for another day of cramming for finals and humouring Korosensei,” Sugaya says drily, but he still smiles at Mimura as the shorter boy steps onto the bus. “See you tomorrow.” 

* * *

Mimura is pretty sure Sugaya accidentally elbows him in the stomach while they try to weave their way through the darkness of the cave, but he doesn’t complain about it. It’s uncomfortable and far too small and he doesn’t like it, sure, but Nakamura — her eyes bright and blue, even in the darkness — darts ahead, undeterred by the rocks that lie in her way. Sugaya and Mimura both lag behind, colliding with each other more than once as they maneuver through the tunnel.

“Oh, please, don’t be so scared.” Nakamura rolls her eyes at them, but even here, it’s hard to hide the mischievous glint in them. “It’s just a walk through the cave. Maybe we’ll see some cool stuff.”

“Uh, sure,” Mimura says, inching even closer to Sugaya than before. Their sides press against each other, and without even thinking about it, a blush rises to his cheeks. _It’s fine. He probably can’t see me anyway, right?_ “You mean rocks, rocks, and more rocks?”

“That's probably true, but we haven't seen anything yet. Otherwise, this place isn't that interesting, so I hope it won’t be too much of a disappointment.”

Nakamura’s chatter fills up the cave, leaving the narrow passageway feeling a little less empty and dark than it would normally be. Mimura still can’t get rid of his stirrings of unease, even though he knows it’s just going to be Korosensei scaring them. Having Sugaya at his side — the two of them bumping into each other, his presence tall and solid in the face of the cave’s looming enormity — is somewhat soothing.

“Come on, hurry up,” Nakamura calls, and they scramble after her. Sugaya reaches her first, releasing a tired sigh. Mimura hurries up, walking behind them. Eventually, the blonde runs out of things to say and the cave recedes back into eerie silence. Although he can hear the footsteps of the pair who entered the cave before him, Mimura isn’t reassured, especially when Kayano yelps.

“What was that,” Sugaya whispers, the whites of his eyes standing out in the black.

A series of blue flames light up the cave. “This is a blood-drenched cave of tragedy.”

Nakamura and Sugaya let out simultaneous screams of terror, startling him. Ahead, Kayano and Nagisa are nowhere to be seen. Mimura stumbles, his foot catching on a rock. He lands on the ground with a painful _oof_ as Nakamura and Sugaya try to bolt away, but something ensnares them from behind, refusing to let them move.

The voice continues in low tones. “It is where Ryukyu royalty, defeated in battle, met a violent end. You must stay together. Wandering spirits will haunt to death anyone left alone.”

“Mimura!” Sugaya calls, his voice breaking into a shout by the last syllable. He surveys the cave wildly, but the enormous figure in front of the shorter boy blocks Sugaya’s view. Mimura tries to grab onto the figure’s robes and pull himself to his feet, but it doesn’t work.

“Wait, Mimura—” the voice exclaims, its pitch rising and becoming higher, more familiar. “Nakamura! Sugaya! You left the last of your trio behind? What did I tell you about staying together?”

Nakamura eyes Korosensei’s face, which is painted a shade of light green. Though she breathes in short, wheezing gasps, she still musters a disdainful expression. “What, you’re a wandering spirit?”

“You’re not supposed to—”

“This passageway can’t fit all three of us at the same time, alright? Imagine how much Terasaka’s group is suffering with that huge, bulky mountain of a boy.” Nakamura edges her way around Korosensei and offers Mimura a hand up. “Sorry, Mimura. Let’s go.”

Korosensei tries to scold them, but he has to hang back and speak to the next group, so they manage to escape with a short lecture. The three of them walk ahead, navigating the rocky ground with caution, but being chastised by their ridiculous teacher defused the tension in the atmosphere.

“Sensei can be such a loser sometimes,” Nakamura complains, hugging herself to stop the adrenaline-induced trembling. “I was terrified out of my wits at first, but then he starts talking to us about _rules_? Come on.”

“Yeah, that kind of ruined the creepiness,” Sugaya says.

Behind them, Korosensei lets out a scream that’s even higher than Nakamura’s was. Mimura jumps, almost stumbling into Sugaya, who steadies him with a hand on his arm. Nakamura and Sugaya exchange confused glances.

“I’ve been scaring people since I was little,” Hazama calls out, a lilt of laughter in her voice as Korosensei’s scream reverberates in the cave. “This is nothing.”

“Someone with no eyes!” shouts Sensei. “A Japanese doll!” He resumes screaming incoherently, much to the confusion of the trio, and zooms down the tunnel in a blur of bright yellow tentacles.

“I don’t know why I said sensei can be such a loser _sometimes,_ ” Nakamura mutters. “I think I’ll need to drop the sometimes.”

“Well, it’s good that they got back at him for the silly things he’s done,” Mimura says with a snort. Sugaya helps him over a particularly large rock standing in their way and they finally exit the cave, emerging onto the wonderfully bright, clear beach once more.

Korosensei is limp and weeping into the sand as several of the students surround him, their expressions ranging from amused to contemptuous. “So this was all just for matchmaking?” someone asks. “It wasn’t even a test of courage?”

Korosensei sobs out something about a love scandal and wanting his students to be happily married as Sugaya, Nakamura, and Mimura approach the group. The class mumbles irritated obscenities under their breath as he cries away his terror.

Nakamura scoffs, though she can’t seem to keep the amusement off her face. “Never mind that stuff. There are plenty of us who don’t want to be dragged into a love affair.” She glances at Sugaya and Mimura, cocking her head in a _no offense_ gesture. Mimura nods and Sugaya shrugs it off. Nakamura turns back to their teacher. “We’re not all as sleazy as you.”

“It wasn’t even that scary,” Sugaya says with a little chuckle. He looks over at his friend. “Right, Mimura?”

Mimura smiles back with equal composure. “Yeah, it really wasn’t that frightening in the end.”

* * *

Not long after the visit to Okinawa, Sugaya invites Mimura to his house for the first time. Mimura’s still reluctant to show Sugaya his own, and he’s told him as much, although Sugaya brushes it off. Mimura chalks it down to his friend _really_ not being able to understand how embarrassing his dad can be, no matter how much he says not to worry, his older sister is super weird too.

Fortunately for Sugaya, his older sister is away traveling, and his parents are both working when Mimura shows up after school. They’ll study together for a few hours, then Sugaya wants to show some of his bigger works to Mimura, the kind that he can’t just bring to school or build in the art classroom. Mimura’s excited to see it.

The first hour or so passes by peacefully enough. Sugaya quizzes him with biology flashcards; Mimura helps him memorise maths equations. He teaches Mimura how to draw effective diagrams, decorate his notes with attention-catching banners for his headings and create mind maps and flowcharts that don’t overlap and clash. It’s the only part of notetaking that Sugaya seems to enjoy; his notebook is filled with doodles of varying relevance, from a sketch of two tiny samurai locked in battle in his social studies summaries on war tactics to his math notes being sectioned off according to the rule of thirds and the golden ratio. Mimura thinks it’s art. Just not very academically practical art.

After the first hour, Sugaya’s attention wanders a bit, and he finally excuses himself to go off to the bathroom. Mimura nods, not looking up from his biology textbook, which is currently detailing a long section about the properties of blood that are ruining the medical accuracy of his favourite films more with every sentence. After finishing the section, however, he looks up and realises a full ten minutes have passed, and Sugaya still hasn’t returned.

While he would normally leave his friend alone, Mimura really needs to look at his friend’s biology notes. As he gets up and opens the door, he prays Sugaya isn't doing anything embarrassing in the bathroom. However, the boy is nowhere in sight.

“Sugaya?” Mimura calls, looking down the hallway. He frowns. Where’s Sugaya? Knowing his friend, he probably wandered off to work on a painting and is too immersed in it to hear Mimura’s calls, but he would at least let Mimura know first, right?

To Mimura’s left is a door that’s splattered with paint. Maybe it’s Sugaya’s art studio or something. He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, only to discover that the room is mostly dark. There’s a silhouette in the corner, though — could it be Sugaya?

He frowns, groping around for a light switch. It takes him a moment, but he hits the switch, filling the room with a dim, flickering light.

His jaw drops in horror.

People. At least a half dozen of them, all with their eyes glassy and a peculiar sheen to their skin. The people slouch against the wall in various positions, some of them with their limbs at odd angles. They stare at Mimura with empty, dead gazes, devoid of warmth, and oh _God_ —

“Mimura?”

If Mimura was holding a weapon, someone would’ve died right then, although in all likelihood, it would probably be Mimura, because he would angle the weapon incorrectly and stab himself. To his relief, it’s just Sugaya. His friend tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Mimura turns to look at the people in the room again, and then he spots the straw poking out of their chests. Oh. They’re dummies. The relief is only just overwhelming him when he realises another thing and blurts out, “Why do you keep this mini-army in your storage room?”

“Some fun with arts and crafts. I’m just practising,” Sugaya says with a chuckle. “Wait, did you think they were real people?”

Mimura’s cheeks burn. “Maybe.”

“Well, that’s good, then. I’ve been trying to make them as life-like as possible. Still, are you okay there?”

“I get flustered a little too easily,” Mimura admits, exhaling to release some of the tension. “It’s fine. The dummies, they’re really good.”

“I can tell they’re creeping you out. Here.” Sugaya walks over to one of them, a woman with dark red hair and gleaming, marble-like brown eyes. He grabs her arm and extends it to Mimura, raising it so she’s offering a high-five. “Harmless.” He grins. “See?”

Mimura gives it a high-five, just in case. It continues to smile brightly at him. “Harmless,” he agrees. “Where were you?”

“As I was leaving the bathroom, I stopped to get my watercolour set. I wanted to polish up some of my headers, make them prettier.” Sugaya shrugs. “It took me a while to find it, so sorry about that. I don’t suppose you’re still in the mood for studying?”

“No, not really. This room you have here — it’s amazing. These people look so real. What else do you have?”

“Well...” Sugaya hesitates, though he’s still grinning. “There’s a lot of stuff in here, so I’ll end up rambling for a while if you let me start talking. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course,” Mimura says.

“Okay, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Sugaya walks over to the other side of the room, where a table is covered by a thin, opaque sheet of plastic. “This is something I’ve been working on for a while. It’s a model of the city…” 

* * *

“For someone who’s usually so gentle and polite, Kanzaki is _vicious_ ,” Sugaya whispers to Mimura, rubbing at the paint stains on his outfit. His fingers come away smeared with blue.

“You should see how she demolished me last week when we were gaming,” Mimura whispers back. They both shoot Kanzaki a furtive glance as she and Kayano watch Nakamura’s team stalk across the terrain, guns and knives in hand. “She’s terrifying when she focuses.” _And very beautiful,_ he thinks a bit dreamily, though even more of a dream would be the day his gaming skills actually impress her.

Next to them, Okajima’s eyes widen, and he hisses out an excited “Look!”, elbowing Mimura in the ribs. Mimura is still recovering from the blow when he registers the sharp cries of astonishment from Nakamura’s kill team as they land on the ground, their outfits painted with splashes of blue.

“Whoa, what just happened?” he murmurs, but his question is answered as Nagisa appears from behind them and takes off his hood, his face cool and serious as he turns to look at the red team’s flag. His gaze snags on Karma.

“We’ve lost,” Okajima says with a shake of his head. “There’s no way Karma will get to Nagisa before he’s shot.”

“I don’t think so,” Sugaya says. “Look.”

Karma looks across the clearing, right back at Nagisa, his expression twisted with cold fury. Nagisa drops the gun.

“What—?”

“It wouldn’t be fair if Nagisa just gunned him down,” Sugaya says, still rubbing absentmindedly at the paint on his uniform. Nakamura, Terasaka, Muramatsu, and Yoshida get up and join the rest of the defeated. No one greets them, too fascinated by what’s happening to pay attention. “That’s playing dirty, and personally, I wouldn’t be happy if that’s how the other team wins.”

The class watches in curious silence as Nagisa and Karma run towards each other, knives raised.

Mimura is good enough at PE — good enough at most things, really, but not excellent. He’s carried out assassination attempts, spars decently during class. He would never take a fight to the level these two are taking it now, lashing out each other with unrestrained fury and determination. They’re a blur of red and brown and blue in the clearing, beating the shit out of each other for all they’re worth. Blood drips from the corner of Karma’s lip; Nagisa muffles a grunt as the redhead aims a fist at his throat. Karma takes Nagisa’s kicks with little more than a slight widening of the eyes and a flare of the nostrils; Nagisa bears his punches with steel in his stare, a literal look that could kill.

Mimura isn’t sure if he could do that to his closest friend, but he looks at the boy next to him, both of their uniforms bearing blue splatters, and thinks that at least he doesn’t have to.

Karma finally brings Nagisa crashing into the ground — Mimura isn’t surprised, Karma’s bigger, stronger — and picks up his knife.

“I don’t want him to die,” he murmurs to Sugaya, abrupt as it is, and he’s not talking about Karma. It’s so quiet no one else hears it, not even Okajima, and maybe Sugaya doesn’t either, but then his friend looks at him and nods.

“None of us do,” he says. “But we want to kill him. That’s why we’re here.”

Mimura drags his gaze back to the clearing. Karma holds the knife above Nagisa’s head, a slight tremble in his body from adrenaline and exhaustion, but his grip is steady as he stabs downwards and Nagisa hurls himself to his feet, bringing his hands together in a _clap_ that resounds through the clearing.

Karma staggers backwards as a few of the kids emit small gasps. Nagisa launches himself forward, the knife slipping from Karma’s hand again, and brings the other boy to the ground.

Mimura glances over at Korosensei, searching for any sign of surprise or internal conflict, but their teacher’s face remains the same as ever as he observes the chaos below them. Nagisa screams something inarticulate as he chokes the life out of Karma, the two locked in struggle in the leaves. Karma gropes around for a weapon and finds his knife, and Mimura holds his breath. In the back of his mind, he wonders what soundtrack he would set for this battle, then shakes it off.

Karma raises the knife high one more time, Nagisa still doing his best to strangle him — and surrenders.

“We lost,” Okajima mutters, picking at the edges of his sleeve.

As Karasuma’s announcement rings out across the clearing, Sugaya sighs. “It was a fair fight, at least. Are you sad about it?”

Mimura steps a bit closer to him as cheers go up from the various kids in their class. As Nagisa and Karma rise, their faces bloodied and smudged with dirt, Mimura contemplates the battle. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” Sugaya says, nodding at the clusters of red team members, scattered throughout the group. None of them look angry, though more than a few are a bit disappointed. “But you know, at least he doesn’t have to die.” 

* * *

When an enormous red-orange glow shoots down from the sky and pierces into the depths of the mountain, Sugaya sees it first. He’s lying on his couch with Mimura, sketching out a portrait of the class — “Ugh, I really wish Kataoka would model for me,” he mumbles, barely audible — with the shorter boy poring over his social studies textbook when he jolts, his hand leaving a long, dark mark on the paper and almost ripping the drawing.

“What _is_ that?”

Mimura shakes off the trance the tedious blocks of information the textbook trapped him in and looks out the window, following Sugaya’s gaze. Somehow, they both know where the laser they’re seeing ends. It’s March, and every day since the month has started, they’ve all been on edge.

In a way, it’s a relief to know the time is finally here.

* * *

At the graduation ceremony, Mimura’s mother sees the way his classmates cling to each other, how they exchange sad smiles when nobody’s looking and the distance that exists between them and everyone else, and when Mimura asks if he can please stay with them a little longer before they go home, she says yes.

He finds Isogai’s friends first. They’re clustered together like always, but with none of their usual open, inviting smiles or the bright enthusiasm that’s expected of them. They speak with subdued voices, the energy in them replaced by a weary determination to simply make it through the day. Everyone pretended normalcy well enough, throughout the ceremony, but as more people begin to filter out through the doors, his classmates’ shoulders start to sag, their smiles a bit more brittle than before.

“Hey, Mimura,” Maehara says, but it’s with none of his usual cheer. He stands next to Isogai, the two of them even closer than usual, like a house of cards leaning on each other for support.

“Hey, Maehara,” Mimura says. He doesn’t want to stay long, but they’re still his friends. He exchanges the obligatory small talk with the rest of the group, then frowns at Isogai when he notices how quiet he’s being.

“I’m fine, really,” Isogai says, giving him a weary smile.

Mimura frowns. “Your antennae are drooping, you know.”

“They are?” Isogai’s eyes widen. He tugs at a strand of hair self-consciously. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey! Don’t apologise for that,” Kataoka scolds him.

Mimura laughs a little bit at the scowl twisting her face and supposes that it’s time to leave. He bids them a farewell — he’ll make sure to keep in touch with them, all of them — and sets off to find some of his other friends.

Okajima and Sugaya are talking together, but as Mimura’s about to approach them, Okajima says something in low tones before drifting away to talk to Chiba and Hayami. That leaves Sugaya alone, his eyes scanning the crowd before they land on Mimura, who stands awkwardly a few metres away from him. They start toward each other at the same time.

“It’s finally over,” Sugaya says. “I feel like that was the longest year of my life.”

Mimura nods. “I want to go home and sleep for a week.”

“Me too,” Sugaya says with feeling. He holds up his sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page. “I was bored during the ceremony, because the speeches were so long, so I tried to draw. I don’t know why, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to create anything. I sketch out a few random lines, erase it, then give up.”

“Art block?”

“I think so. I’ve never had it before. If anything, I _couldn’t_ stop making art.” He sighs, closing the sketchbook. “I feel like no matter what I draw, nothing would ever convey all the things that happened this year, or how it made me feel.”

Mimura glances around the auditorium. Most of the people have left by now. “Let's go take a walk outside,” he suggests. “We're both been stuffed in this place for too long, and maybe the open air will inspire you.”

They end up sitting on a bench in a patch of grass. Sugaya does, anyway, eyeing a decorative fountain with fascination before flipping open his sketchbook again. Mimura stands next to him, surveying the campus. This is in all likelihood the last time he’ll ever walk its paths.

He realises the thought of talking to Kanzaki at the ceremony never even crossed his mind. He glimpsed her laughing in the corner with Kayano and Okuda, the three girls sharing an unspoken camaraderie, but he didn't consider approaching her at all. She's still attractive to him — pretty, kind, intelligent, everything about her admirable, but nowadays, there isn't the same irresistible pull there used to be. Instead, he thinks about what lies between him and Sugaya — something that has been blooming, faithful and sure, over the past year. He's afraid to put a name on it. He and Kanzaki are as distant as can be, and he doesn't want that to happen to him and Sugaya.

Still.

Mimura doesn't want to think about it. There are couples he's sure have formed because of such experiences. No one missed the way Maehara and Isogai looked at each other after the trip to Okinawa, and Yada seemed more nervous than usual at the ceremony, on edge around Kataoka, like she was preparing for something. But Korosensei just died, and Mimura can't bring himself to use that as an impetus to say something, not how others can. His friend glances up from his sketchbook.

Sugaya’s eyes meet his, knowing. _Understanding._

They'll talk about it, but not today, not while the image of Korosensei's eternally smiling face is still fixed in the back of Mimura's mind. For now, they walk back to the auditorium, aside by side. Sugaya passes Mimura his sketchbook.

“Since I'll be away most of the break to travel, write a note to me. Something to remember you by until I get back. I could use it for my artistic inspiration as well.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mimura takes the pencil Sugaya hands him and begins to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on Tumblr [@karushuus](http://karushuus.tumblr.com).


End file.
